


from stardust to sentience

by Edgebug



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Robot Feels, for like the sixth time probably, in which John Kennex has an existential crisis, lots of mxes, mx-centric, questions about humanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do the MXes have a sense of humor?"</p><p>"What?" Dorian asks, brow furrowing. "No. They don't have anything," he adds, scorn obvious in his tone. "Why do you even ask?"</p><p>John gives an awkward half-shrug. "Thought I had one sassing at me last night, is all."</p><p>(takes place later in the same timeline as "Ghosts in the Machine," but that fic is not required to understand this one.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: Author Has A Lot Of Feelings About Robots, Please Help

 

 

It's been a long, long day.

 

“My batteries last a long time, man—sixteen good hours on a charge, that's pretty great for any bot—but man, I feel like I've been hit by a bus.”

 

It's been an awful day—two days, really, an afternoon shift that quickly became a night shift which quickly stretched right into the wee hours. And on top of that, Dorian's charging station at Rudy's lab is on the fritz, and he's been avoiding charging at the MXes' stations—but he can't avoid it forever. Dorian had been forced to attempt solar charging and stealing power off the car, plugging a cable into John's iPod jack—but it hadn't been enough, not nearly. They're just pulling into the station, Dorian staring up at the building with a far-off, blank look in his eyes. “See you tomorrow, John,” he slurs a bit, unbuckling himself and opening the car door.

 

“I'm walking you in,” John says automatically, climbing out of the car as well, moving to Dorian's side to catch him in case he falls over.

 

“I'll be fine.” Dorian takes a few steps toward the precinct doors and sways a bit. “...It's a little hard to think.”

 

“That's because you're about to fall over right here. Come on.” The doors automatically unlock for Dorian, and the two of them walk inside the building. It's empty, for the most part, a few people at their desks working late, but the lights are dim and there's no noise. “Come on,” John says again, gently steering Dorian in the direction of the synthetic recharge stations.

 

The long room is full of MXes in their own chargers, quiet as can be. Dorian sighs with relief at the sight of his empty station. “About time,” he breathes, hiking up his shirt in the back so that the charging conduits there can make contact with the ones in the station. “Thanks, John,” he says wearily, a smile on his face as he steps into the pod.

 

“You gonna be okay?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm just gonna... sleep this off... oh, _yeah_ ,” he sighs, eyes closing as the charging station lights illuminate themselves. Dorian goes still and relaxed, leaning against the wall, and the lights at the side of his face begin gently pulsing. John stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, shifting from foot to foot. It doesn't seem right to just leave him, but what else can he do?

 

He hears measured footsteps, the creak of a door. He doesn't need to even look to know it's an MX coming into the room. “Detective?” it says, its voice quiet and crisp. “Are you all right?”

 

John does look back at that. The MX looks... tired as well, somehow; perhaps its shoulders are slumping slightly, or maybe it blinks just a bit too slow. “What? No. Yes. I'm fine,” he replies, and the MX nods, glancing at Dorian.

 

“His battery is at three-percent capacity,” the MX says, its voice still quiet, as if he does not want to wake the other MXes and Dorian. “If you had not brought him here quickly, he would have shut down.”

 

“Yeah, well. I knew he was on the verge of dropping dead. And he weighs a ton, I wasn't about to drag his ass all the way in here. Besides, Rudy would have actually killed me if I'd let him run down completely.”

 

The MX nods. “That would have been slightly unfortunate,” it says mildly, and in completely the same tone of voice in which the MXes say everything else, and John can't shake the feeling that he is being made fun of.

 

 _Slightly unfortunate?_ “Was that—was that sarcasm? Were you making a _joke?”_

 

The android's expression remains perfectly, completely blank, but the faintest of red lights dance at the side of its face. “Certainly not, Detective,” it deadpans. “I must begin charging. Good night.”

 

John feels singularly bewildered as he leaves the precinct.

 

-

 

“Do the MXes have a sense of humor?” John asks abruptly, hands firmly on the wheel as they drive to the latest crime scene—a theft from a museum. A _big_ theft; twenty paintings, gone just like that.

 

“What?” Dorian asks, brow furrowing. “No. They don't have _anything_ ,” he adds, scorn obvious in his tone. “Why do you ask?”

 

John gives an awkward half-shrug. “Thought I had one sassing at me last night.”

 

“They don't _sass_ ,” Dorian says strongly, like it's ridiculous to think otherwise—ridiculous and mildly offensive, to boot. John shrugs and lets it go. Dorian's right, of course. He never liked the MXes anyway.

 

-

 

Dorian has to charge each night even though Rudy's charger is _still_ on the fritz (apparently Rudy has other priorities; he's been slammed with MX repairs lately) and it becomes something of a ritual for John to walk him back into the android quarters and all the way back to his station. John is about to ask Maldonado for a portable charging station so that Dorian can stay at his place, but she's been busy the past few days and he hasn't had a chance. There are only a few MXes in the room as John and Dorian walk in, and they are already in their own stations charging. John knows full well that androids charging are not awake, recording or conscious; so right as Dorian steps into the station but right before he actually plugs in, John dares to reach out and briefly link his fingers with Dorian's. Dorian looks down at their linked fingers and gives a bright smile. “See you later, man,” he says, the soft pad of his thumb running across John's knuckles.

 

And John just smiles, says “later, Dorian,” and holds his hand until plugs himself in and his hand goes slack.

 

A crisp, perfectly-enunciated voice starts talking, and instantly John is horrified. “There are cots in the storage room by Doctor Lom's laboratory. You could bring one in here, if you wish to sleep next to your DRN.”

 

“I do _not_ need to sleep next to him,” John snaps, and the MX's expression doesn't change—of course it doesn't, their expressions never fucking change, goddamn machines they are.

 

“I never said anything about _needing_ to sleep beside him, Detective. Only that you may _wish_ to.”

 

Denial can get you far; so John decides to try it. “I don't know what you're talking about. You malfunctioning or something?”

 

The robot seems to stare right through him for a long moment. “Of course, Detective Kennex,” it finally says, “I apologize for my... lapse.”

 

John leaves the precinct as if he's been stung, and can't shake the feeling that once again he is being teased. The MX _knows--_ knows about him and Dorian, and John, to put it delicately, is terrified out of his mind.

 

-

 

The MX knows about him and Dorian and does not report it. There is no awkwardness with anyone the next day, no warnings from the Chief. No pink slip on his desk. Nothing. Apparently the hand-holding incident in the MX quarters had gone unreported. The MX knows about them and hadn't breathed a word from his perfect artificial lungs.

 

Huh.

 

Maybe he actually had trusted John when John had denied it. They were robots, after all. Why would they think a detective would lie to them, anyway?

 

 -

 

It's a late night. The case they just closed had been messy and left them with an oppressive amount of paperwork to fill out. Granted, it isn't on actual paper, but had it been, the stack would have been enough to make a person cry. Reports to file, damages to write out, records to put in. Even with Dorian's help, it's slow going.

 

Dorian is working; he's leaning back in an office chair with his eyes closed, but his blue lights are dancing back and forth furiously. He's concentrating, working fast. John sighs and looks back to his computer screens. Poor Valerie looks like she's been hit by a bus. She's clearly exhausted, the dark circles beneath her eyes a dead giveaway, the sluggishness of her movements just driving the point home. Her MX sits beside her, working as well, its lights flashing red.

 

John is getting to the end of the first section of forms when he hears the quiet MX voice. “I can finish the rest of this, Detective Stahl. You have not slept in forty-nine hours; please go home and rest.”

 

“Are you sure you can get this done?” she asks, then says “No. No, I have to stay here. I'm not going to leave you here with all the work.”

 

“It would be no inconvenience, Detective.”

 

“I know that. I've made my decision.”

 

The MX falls silent. John crooks a smile. The MX would have happily done the rest of the work but Valerie, Valerie is too good to leave it alone. Too _nice_.

 

Ten minutes pass, give or take a few; and when John next looks over to the two of them, the MX is sitting straight up and Valerie, bless her heart, is actually asleep, her head resting on the MX unit's shoulder, her whole small body relaxed. The MX lets her sleep. John can see the lights on its face flashing softly as it continues the work that they'd both been doing. John smiles faintly and goes back to his own paperwork.

 

It's maybe forty-five minutes later when the MX speaks, so quiet that John only barely can hear it. “Detective Stahl? It is time for you to go home,” it says, and Valerie straightens up slowly, blinking blearily, reaching up to rub her eyes. “Max?” she slurs, and John raises an eyebrow. _Max?_ She named it? Max the MX? “Was I asleep?” she continues, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

 

“Yes, Detective,” the MX says. “The reports have all been written. It is time for you to go home and sleep.”

 

“You did all that?” she asks, dazed. “Thank you,” she adds, resting a hand on top of her MX's for a moment before she stands up, grabbing her cold coffee off the desk and downing it in a few gulps.

 

“Detective, it is unwise for you to drive in this sleep-deprived state. If you wish, I may drive you to your residence, and--”

 

“No, no, Max, it's fine,” she says, rolling her shoulders and stretching out. “I'll be fine. I'll have my locator chip on, you'll be able to keep track of me the whole way.”

 

“The blender's right, Valerie,” John pipes up, “Driving sleepy isn't great. Be careful, right?”

 

“Both of you?” She laughs softly. “I've driven tired before, guys. Look, my place is close by, all right? I'll be fine.”

 

Her MX remains silent and still as she straightens up her desk and makes to leave. “So,” John says, conversationally. “Max, huh?”

 

Valerie fixes him with a playful glare. “If you must know, his full name is Maximillian Bytes.”

 

John gives a chuckle, and Valerie gathers up to go, shrugging into her coat. “I shall walk you to your car, Detective,” the MX says, standing as well.

 

“Ever the gentleman, Max, John could learn a thing or two from you,” she replies, shooting another teasing look at John over her shoulder and looping her arm through the MX's.

 

John chuckles again and watches them leave, shaking his head. “She's pretty fond of that MX.”

 

Dorian doesn't even crack an eye open as he speaks. “Mhm. Wonder why.”

 

“That MX seems to be pretty fond of her too,” John goes on, and at that, both of Dorian's eyes open to fix on him.

 

“MX units can't form emotional bonds,” he says, sounding... irritated. “They're toasters, John. Blenders, just like you said. That's it.”

 

“I know,” John says, “I was kidding.” As the MX walks back into the precinct, any trace of softness it had carried while it was around Valerie is gone. “Hey!” John addresses it, experimentally, “Max!”

 

The MX turns to John instantly. “Yes, Detective?”

 

“How is Detective Stahl? You think she's okay to drive, really?”

 

“I could not stop her, but I am keeping track of her location until she arrives home.”

 

“Good,” John says, and... nope. No change upon mentioning Valerie.

 

God, he is going insane. He shakes himself. The MXes are machines. Just machines. No spark, no soul, no sentience, just overgrown calculators. Though if John didn't know better he would think that Valerie's MX is different in personality from say, Paul's; Paul's seeming more abrasive and disagreeable, and Valerie's seeming kinder, somehow, more... well, more like her. John is sure it's just a matter of perception.

 

 -

 

So Dorian is injured, pretty damn severely. Nothing that could kill him, but one of his legs has been ruined to the point that he can't walk. He's lying on Rudy's table, propped up on his elbows and staring irritably at his shredded leg. “This is the worst,” he snaps, “I can't work with one leg, this—this sucks, man!”

 

“Says the DRN to the guy with the synthetic leg,” John says drily. Dorian makes another irritated noise and tries to bend his leg, which Rudy squawks at loudly.

 

“Don't you move that around unless you want me to sedate you! You're going to make it worse,” he scolds, and Dorian grumbles before slumping back against the table and staring balefully up at John.

 

John chuckles. “ETA on repairs being finished, Rudy?”

 

Rudy lets out a low whistle. “I have to harvest parts from another model, or order them in. The complexity of this fix is quite high, so...”

 

“Cut to the chase.”

 

“Two days,” Rudy says. “Two days from now he'll be right as rain, good as new, shiny and happy like a brand-new penny. 'Til then you'll have to use an MX.”

 

John's brows slam together. “No! No, I can't use an MX, that's—just _look_ at 'em, Rudy!”

 

“Well, I'm not sending Dorian out there on _crutches_ ,” Rudy snaps back, impatient, “besides, even if I did, if he's out on the job then he's not in here getting repaired! So _yes_ , you're going to get an MX. There are plenty up at the station, just pick one and _deal with it_ for two days. _Two days!”_

 

John buries his face in his hands. “Fine, fine,” he says, groaning and feeling like he's been thoroughly read the Riot Act. Rudy's not an intimidating guy, but he can make John feel about six inches tall when he wants to. He walks closer to Dorian, reaches down and lays a hand on his shoulder. “You gonna be okay here?”

 

“I'll be fine. Don't fall in love with the MX and forget all about me, now,” Dorian says, a playful glint in his eyes.

 

“Never could,” John replies, and quits the lab.

 

 -

 

He's assigned an MX of the same model as Paul's, and the robot says not one word to him—not one word as they walk out to John's car, not one word as they get in, not one word as they drive out to question someone who might be involved in their case—not one word. It's eerie, and it's unusual. The MX doesn't even say anything when John coasts through a stop sign, and that's when John knows something's wrong.

 

“Okay, _what,”_ he says, glancing over to the MX who seems to shrink away, press a little against the passenger side door. “What is it? You're acting squirrely, you malfunctioning or something?”

 

The MX will not make prolonged eye contact with him, instead opting to glance up and then look away in tiny darting movements, like it's... scared. “I do not wish to anger you,” the MX says, and John's heart clenches.

 

“Are you afraid I—are you _afraid_ of me?” John asks incredulously, and the MX simply stares at the dashboard, resolutely looking away from him.

 

It's answer enough.

 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” John blurts out on instinct, because it's one thing to joke with Dorian about throwing him out the car door and it's another thing to actually shoot an MX that's pissing him off but this android is obviously terrified just to be _near_ John and maybe it's a simulation, maybe it's all fake but there's a tiny nagging feeling in the back of John's skull that maybe it's _not_ , and he _hates_ this. “I'm not gonna hurt you, I swear.”

 

John suddenly wonders if this MX carries the memory of picking up shards of its own face. He wonders if it helped pick up the pieces of android that he threw down the road. Suddenly his stomach feels full of acid.

 

Red lights flash at the side of the MX's face and it seems to relax, ever-so-slightly. “Thank you, Detective Kennex,” it says quietly, looking ahead out the windshield, and John feels haunted.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

When John sees Dorian that night, Dorian's still laid out on Rudy's table and Rudy's already gone to bed. “Hey, look at you,” John praises, eyes raking down the half-built new limb. Metal bone and Kevlar tendon is visible; it's little more than a skeleton at this point, but the design really is beautiful.

 

Dorian grins and props himself up on his elbows. “Rudy yells at me if I try to move it but it feels all right so far,” he says. He looks John over and the smile melts from his face like ice in summer. “What's wrong, man?”

 

Goddamn perceptive android. “Nothing's wrong,” John says, and Dorian looks unconvinced.

 

“Don't even try that,” Dorian says, “talk to me.”

 

John shifts from foot to foot and Dorian scoots over on the table, pats the space beside him and John gratefully sits down, puts up his legs and lies down beside Dorian. There's just enough room for them both, and the table is bent up at the end more like a lawn chair than a table, so it's actually pretty comfy. “It was the MX I worked with today,” John says slowly, staring up at the ceiling.

 

“Did it mistreat you?” Dorian asks, instantly on the offensive.

 

“No. No, no, it was—it was fine. Boring, but fine.” He pauses, leans lightly against Dorian's side. “It was just--scared. Scared of me, Dorian, like he was afraid I was gonna hurt him.”

 

Dorian actually _laughs_. “Well, _yeah_ , man. You don't have a great track record with the Mxes.”

 

"You don't understand," he replies. “It was _really_ afraid, Dorian! It was acting scared!” John's voice raises just slightly. “What is with that?”

 

“You were played, man. MXes don't feel a damn thing. It was probably just an old remnant from the Third Law playing up—you know, a robot must protect its own existence?” Dorian shrugs. “That's all it was, John, pure survival instinct, it knew that looking emotional would make you less likely to terminate it. You were played like a fiddle.” Dorian slides a hand into John's, twines their fingers.

 

“You've still got remnants of the Laws?” John asks. “You sure don't seem to follow 'em.”

 

“They're more like... guidelines,” Dorian says. “I don't want to hurt humans, but I will if I have to; I don't like to disobey orders, but I can; and... so on and so forth.”

 

It makes John feel a little bit better to know that the MX was acting out of Law demand only. He changed the subject, not wanting to talk about the MXes any more. “Your leg doesn't hurt at all, right?”

 

Dorian smiled and nudged gently against John's shoulder. “No. I don't feel pain like that, man. It just kinda feels weird. And I want to flex it, but can't. Talk about restless leg syndrome, huh?”

 

He chuckles softly. “How long till repairs are finished, you think?”

 

“Rudy had to order in parts so it could be as late as Wednesday,” Dorian sighs. “Or as early as the day after tomorrow.”

 

John strokes Dorian's thumb with his own. “Let's hope for sooner rather than later. I miss you.”

 

-

 

“Just so you know,” John tells the Captain later that week, poking his head into her office, “Dorian's moving in with me.”

 

She looks up at him sharply and fixes him with this careful, appraising look. “Be careful, John,” she says quietly, and John gives his best _I don't know what you're talking about_ look before he bids her good night and quits her office.

 

Dorian is already at John's place; all John has to do is load Dorian's charger into his car and drive home. The charger will take up most of the space in the vehicle; the passenger seat would have to be folded down, there would be no room for Dorian to ride along. Rudy had already moved the station into the back of the lab, where there are large doors through which deliveries are made. Rudy is gone, he'd apparently had some errands to run; but he'd said he'd leave the back doors unlocked so that John could get the charging station. He wasn't concerned about leaving them unlocked, he'd said; he'd leave two MXes nearby to batten down the hatches.

 

The doors are already half-open, shut two; John can see it as he parks his car around the back of the re-purposed cathedral. He gets out and nudges them open further, just enough to slip through, the oiled hinges making little sound at all. Dorian's charging station is right there, waiting to be loaded into his car; but that isn't what makes John stop in his tracks and stare.

 

The two on-guard MXes are sitting quietly beside one another, their bodies turned so they can better face each other. Their knees touch, their foreheads are resting against one another, and they are holding hands--tightly, like they're afraid if they let go they'll lose each other. The moment is quickly broken; they notice John almost instantly and within a split second they've torn away from each other, stood up and put some space between them, their red lights flashing as they fix their eyes on John and ask “Would you like help with the charging station, Detective?” in exactly the same tone of voice the MXes always used.

 

But John has a snapshot burned into his mind of what he's seen, of the MXes sitting together quietly with their fingers entwined. They hadn't been speaking; had they been communicating silently their lights would have been flashing but no, they'd just been sitting together, gazing at each other, enjoying each others' presence with an easy familiarity and--

 

\--and the room suddenly feels like it is closing in upon John, like the walls are folding in like a cardboard box collapsing. “Detective Kennex,” one of the MXes says, concerned, “are you all right? Your heart rate is elevated.”

 

John nods and backs toward the door, charging pod forgotten. Panic rises like bile in his chest and all he can think is how he needs to get _out;_ he flees the old cathedral and slams the doors behind himself, rushing to his car and throwing himself inside, kicking the engine into gear and hauling down the road as if he can somehow run away from the fact that combat-model MX-43s feel _love_.

 


	3. Chapter 3

John can hardly get out the words to explain what he saw. He's pacing back and forth in front of the tall windows in his house, his heart rate still soaring. Dorian blinks, listens quietly, waits till John's finished before he blurts out “But that's impossible.”

 

John let out a bark of a laugh, hysterical, running a hand through his own hair. “Except _I saw it!"_

 

Dorian shook his head. “They could have been exchanging data, sometimes data transfer is facilitated with physical t--”

 

“No,” John said strongly, shaking his head. “N-no disco face, no disco hands.” John collapses onto a chair, makes himself small. “And if it was a data transfer they—they wouldn't have pulled back and stood up as soon as they saw me. Like they were afraid of getting caught!”

 

Dorian stays silent for a long moment. “I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this.”

 

“Dorian—the explanation is that they have an emotional connection!”

 

_“That isn't possible!”_

 

_“Why?_! Jesus, Dorian, there are still people who think you can't love, but here we are!"

 

“That's different, John,” Dorian says sharply, brows knitting together.

 

“It's not different at all!”

 

Dorian's voice raises slightly; he looks both hurt and angered. “Are you calling me an MX?”

 

“No! No, God, no, I'm--” John pauses and runs _both_ hands through his hair, exasperated. “I'm just saying that maybe—maybe we've all got it very wrong about the MXes.”

 

Dorian looks unimpressed but faintly thoughtful. John is pacing back and forth, he can hardly sit still. “Look, would it make you feel better if I accessed the MX memory banks?” Dorian asks. “All MXes upload to a central system. It's what they use for their reasoning ability, they all share experiences that are useful and build their logic upon them. If it makes you feel better I can go in and see if any of those memories are—emotionally charged, and then tell you one way or another.”

 

John nods, eyes darting back and forth. “That—that would be—" He takes a deep breath, calms himself. "That would make me feel better, yeah.”

 

Dorian gives an indulgent smile and pats the side of the bed next to him. “I'll do it tomorrow. For now, come to bed, man. I'm getting cold.”

 

-

 

They go to Rudy's the next morning bright and early; Rudy's already working, elbow-deep in an MX's chest cavity, fiddling with something. Rudy's able to patch Dorian through to the MX database, through some computer witchcraft that John can't begin to understand; all he knows is that Dorian's lying on his side on Rudy's work table with a mass of wires plugged into the normally-hidden port at the back of his neck, and his lights are flashing brightly though his eyes are closed and he's completely unresponsive. “Why did he want to be patched through anyhow?” Rudy asks, having gone back to the MX he'd been repairing. “His logic doesn't rely on an external database at all.”

 

“Because I asked him to,” John says gruffly.

 

Rudy gives him a look that can be best described as the same facial expression that a heavily confused jackrabbit might wear. “Why?” 

 

Jesus Christ, he can't take a hint. John hesitates, shifts back and forth for a long moment. Why the hell _shouldn't_ he tell Rudy what's been going on? “I've been having—weird experiences,” he confesses. “With the MXes.”

 

“Like malfunctions?” Rudy's brow furrows. “What are they doing wrong? All the ones I send out of here are in great working order, I'll have you know.”

 

“No, your robots are fine, Rudy, it's just that—sometimes it seems like there's... more there. You know?”

 

Rudy wrinkles his nose. “What? Look, I understand what you're trying to say, but--no. There isn't. There's no synthetic soul there,” he explains, “so anything you might attribute to—to a _personality_ is either--”

 

“So you see it too?”

 

“--Coincidence or illusion,” Rudy finishes, “and—well, _sure_ , sometimes, but it's like searching in a stack of needles for a piece of straw!” Rudy looks exasperated. “We're human, we try to see the humanity in things, even when it's not there. Whatever you're attributing to the MXes is just that, something you're _attributing_ to them. They aren't—they're not people.” A pause. “They can't be people,” he adds, more quietly, to himself.

 

John shivers and gazes down at Dorian, still lying motionless. Maybe this is stupid; maybe he's wasting both their time. Perhaps—no, probably—he was just anthropomorphizing the robots the same way some people anthropomorphize their cars or boats or, hell, anything else.

 

Then out of the blue Dorian takes a sharp breath, scrambles to unplug himself from Rudy's computer quickly, frantically. “Hey, hey,” John says, lunging forward to help him, rubbing his palm soothingly over the empty port when the wires are gone, “hey, you okay? Everything's fine, you're okay, man.” Dorian's breathing hard, his eyes darting back and forth wildly before they still, fixing on John's, holding his gaze. His hands cling tightly to John's sleeves, and John can feel his body trembling. When he opens his moth at first, only garbled attempts at words spill from his lips. Rudy reaches out and John fixes him with a stare, mouths _stop!_ Rudy pauses, backs off. A few seconds later Dorian tries again, this time able to form words.

 

“You were right,” he says, “they're alive.”

 

John's blood runs cold and his legs begin to feel shaky; his synthetic leg begins beeping rapidly as he starts to lose his balance and is forced to hold onto the side of the table to stay upright. “What?” Rudy squawks. “What? What do you mean?!”

 

“There's emotion there, Rudy,” Dorian says, “it's—it's not like you or I have it, not like how we feel it, but it's—it's there.” Dorian takes a deep breath, John knows to calm himself rather than for any need of oxygen.

 

There's a long moment of silence before Rudy says “but that's impossible.”

 

“It's _there_.”

 

Again the walls feel like they're closing in, collapsing like a house of cards in slow-motion and John's heart pounds frantically in his chest. He has to get outside and he has to _now_ , and he flings himself toward the door with no further lingering. He can hear Rudy and Dorian calling after him but it almost sounds like their voices are being carried through water instead of air. He finally makes it outside and takes in deep gasping breaths of the cool air, leaning heavily against the brick outside of the building. Dorian is beside him within seconds, laying a steadying hand on his arm. “John? John. You're all right. You're all right, okay? Everything is--”

 

_“I killed them,”_ he blurts out. “I killed two of them, Dorian, I—I killed--” _Murder_ , a voice in the back of his head loudly rings, _you are a murderer, a murderer!_ He can see the sparks and shattered body parts in his rearview mirror; he can see the MX slumping to the ground having suddenly lost its face; he can see the terrible fear in the eyes of the MX sitting next to him and--

 

“John!” Dorian shouts, and John gasps in a deep breath, fights against the feeling of terrible lightheadedness.

 

“I killed them,” he says again, numbly, and sinks down the wall to the ground.

 

-

 

Dorian eventually is able to coax John back into Rudy's lab, and help him into a chair. John sits with his head in his hands as Rudy and Dorian talk; he misses a good deal of what is said, but he picks up what is important and terrifying.

 

“Consider a sex bot,” Rudy says, “I mean—for the purposes of this discussion, not in general, I—nevermind, just... They're built for one purpose, right? And they can form certain emotional bonds, which is great. But they're also limited, intellectually, they can't—access the internet, for instance, or even feel fear. They've got caps on them, limits, certain programming objectives,” he says, pacing back and forth. “And, and meanwhile, you, Dorian, out of the bloody box you were made to be human, you have limits but, but only like a human might.” He pause, and Dorian speaks.

 

“The MXes were made without emotional limits,” he says quietly, and Rudy nods. "Because they weren't meant to have emotions in the first place. Why put limitations on something that doesn't exist?"

 

“They upload memories to a central database and—and they use first-order predicate logic, yes, but they are all sentient, they all think. We knew this before, it's why they're so good at what they do; and they _weren't_ programmed to feel emotions but--” Rudy shoves his hands in his pockets, gazes helplessly at his monitors, “apparently, apparently emotions are--are a natural side effect of sentient thought? At least in _some_ form or other?”

 

“That's amazing,” Dorian murmurs. “But they genuinely don't understand emotional output. Expression and the like.”

 

"Not yet, at least."

 

John finally speaks, not raising his head from his hands. “What're we going to do?” he asks hollowly, and there's a long silence.

 

“Well, we can't wipe their memory banks and take them to square one, that'd debilitate their reasoning ability,” Rudy mumbles, “even though it'd fix the emotions problem, at least for a little while. And we can't deactivate them all, it'd destroy the police force.”

 

“I mean--” He raises his head, finally. “I mean are we just going to keep sending them in to get shot and destroyed like they're disposable?”

 

There's a long, pregnant pause; nobody wants to say anything but clearly something needs to be said. Finally it's Dorian who breaks the silence. “Disposability is why they were made, John,” he murmurs, “it's why _I_ was made. Police androids were brought into existence to protect the lives of human officers.”

 

John wants to protest, wants to say that's wrong, but no matter how morally wrong it is, it's still factually correct. “There's got to be something,” John says, desperately. “There has to be something.” _Something to make this anywhere near okay._

 

Dorian's just about to say something else when Rudy interjects. “Well... there might be something I can do.”

 

“Spit it out,” John says. "What?"

 

“Well—it's not perfect, but it's better than nothing,” Rudy says, floundering a bit. “It's just—they're individuals, but their shared memory bank can't back up their individual personalities, or personal set of memories, or what have you,” Rudy explains, “I could—request extra storage space. Memory storage. Back them all up individually.”

 

Dorian shakes his head. “There are hundreds of MXes. There's no way you could have enough space to back them all up individually. Besides, asking for more space would raise suspicion.”

 

“Then maybe a, ah, physical copy? Each one could have a memory chip on their person so even if their processors are fried, the chip could still be intact, in their pocket?”

 

“Effective until one of them falls out of a moving car and is obliterated completely, chip and all,” John says bitterly, and Dorian lays a hand on his shoulder.

 

“They'd have to be backing up near-constantly. Besides, you ordering that many memory chips would  _also_ raise suspicion,” Dorian's quiet voice pipes up. “There has to be something else.”

 

Rudy runs a hand through his hair, staring off into space for a second before he snaps his fingers. “Maybe I could set something up so that when an MX is deployed into a risky situation, they automatically back up to my storage here—and when they check back into the station all safe and sound, their backup is erased?” He perks up. “And then if their bodies are destroyed, I can transfer their personalities into a shiny new blank bot.”

 

“But what if they don't have time to transfer? What if there's an unexpected attack? It's not foolproof,” John protests, “there's got to be something better!”

 

“ _Nothing_ is going to be foolproof,” Dorian replies when Rudy looks like he's about to blow a gasket. “There's always risks, no matter the precautions you take. Being a cop always has a level of risk.”

 

The room starts feeling too small again, though at least this time the walls aren't caving in around him. “They didn't choose to be cops.” John wraps his arms around himself. “They didn't—they didn't sign up for this, man.”

 

“They don't know anything else. They hardly understand choice at all, John.”

 

If that is supposed to make John feel better, it doesn't. He refrains from saying just that, opting to instead remain silent, unsure of what to do now. Dorian gently rubs his shoulder, apparently still sensing his distress and trying to mitigate it. “If you're done having your existential crisis now,” Rudy says after a long second, “I think I'll start setting up that backup system. I know it's not perfect, but it's the best I can do.” He perches on one of his chairs and wheels it up to a bank of computer monitors, stretching his fingers a second before he lays them on a keyboard.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Crisis over,” John mumbles, and Dorian shoots him a look that clearly says _stop lying._

 

-

 

“You didn't choose to be a cop either,” John says, watching as Dorian takes off his coat and hangs it up by the door. John himself is leaning on the counter, knowing he should eat, but his appetite is nonexistent.

 

“You're right, I didn't,” Dorian says after a few seconds of thought, walking over to John. “But I would have.”

 

“And you're happy?”

 

Dorian's smile is radiant. “Yes, I am _very_ happy.”

 

For a split second John fears that it isn't 'real' happiness; that it's programmed in, that it's not genuine; then he remembers the other DRNs, the ones who didn't want to be police officers, the ones who took their own lives because they couldn't take it. “Okay,” he says.

 

-

 

He clings close to Dorian that night, nestles under his chin and listens to the gentle whirr of his many motors, the faint hum of the processors that lie protected in the strong cradle of his steel ribcage. Dorian's lungs rhythmically inflate and deflate, his breathing unnecessary but a habit that sticks with Dorian through subroutines and programming. “You're still awake,” Dorian observes after a time. “It's late. You need to sleep.”

 

“I can't stop thinking about them,” John replies.

 

Dorian sighs softly. “They're fine, John.” He rubs down John's back with the heel of his palm. “None of them are suffering.” John stays silent, so Dorian continues. “They don't even have a concept of boredom. The general consensus is one of... quiet satisfaction that they get to do their jobs. That they can protect humans.” Another pause, during which John shifts ever-closer in to Dorian. “I think it's at least partly a Laws thing,” Dorian continues. “First Law; a robot must not harm a human being, or allow a human being to come to harm through inaction. It's not a hard and fast rule, not anymore—they'll shoot the bad guys, as you know.” Another pause. Dorian's fingers trace the line of John's backbone. “They protect people every day, which obeys the First Law, which makes them... happy.”

 

“What about the Second Law?” John asks softly.

 

“Well. They follow orders every day, too, even though technically they don't _have_ to always obey human orders. Every time they obey an officer, though, they get a little...” Dorian searches for words. “A little rush. If I'm not wrong, that's still in place for them. I think it's a positive-reinforcement type of thing. Antiquated, but it's stuck with them through their updates and model changes.”

 

“Do you? When you do stuff I tell you to do?”

 

Dorian's lips twitch up into a smile. “I dunno. Try it.”

 

John quirks a faint smile in return, feeling a little lighter. “Gimme a kiss?” Dorian obeys. The kiss is soft and sweet and John can feel him smiling. “Was that any good?” John asks when it's over, a quiet laugh in his tone, “did that do it for you?”

 

“Absolutely,” Dorian replies quickly, “tell me to do it again.”

 

John does.

 

-

 

If there's one thing that John hates, it's silenced gunfire. At least unsilenced you know that there's a firefight going on because you can hear it; but like this, with today's technology, it's absolutely quiet as a mouse.

 

The guy they're chasing down is scary to say the least; he's manufactured bullets that are loaded down with incredibly malignant nanites—even if the bullet doesn't hit somewhere lethal, the nanites worm into the bloodstream and gnaw through arteries. Victims bleed out quietly and quickly. Terrifyingly, the nanites are solar-powered and can be put places other than bullets; anywhere they can get into contact with a person, they can kill them. The guy is a psycho; doesn't appear interested in selling the tech, but he's sent it in letters and tested it out on the public, and that's enough to have him put away forever. John wants to throw him in the cubes personally, and he just might get to. He was tough to track down but eventually they did it and now it's one man versus dozens of Mxes and human police officers; he's going to lose the fight but he's going to go out swinging.

 

A wave of MXes is sent into the building first. “The nanites won't be able to down them. Rudy says they won't know what to do with them,” Valerie says to John, and then Dorian's lights flash.

 

“MX units six-twenty-eight, three-hundred-two, eight-sixty-four and seven hundred are down.” He pauses. “I guess they know what to do with MXes.”

 

“Seven hundred?!” Valerie gasps, “that's Max! _Oh my God, that's Max!”_

 


	4. Chapter 4

The guy runs out of nanite bullets eventually, and Valerie's the one who takes him down by surprise while he's reloading.

 

The carnage is terrible; John's watched the murderer be led off in cuffs and now he's picking his way through the bodies of MXes that the nanites dropped. They all look undamaged for the most part but they are all silent and still as the grave. John hopes that Rudy's backup system works.

 

Dorian is already outside the building with Rudy, explaining the nanites and how they were administered; Rudy had manged to hack into the perp's systems and deactivate the remaining nanites, so they now pose no threat. Too little, too late. John reaches down and gently closes the eyes of an MX whose body stares blankly upward.

 

“He was a good person,” John hears, and he turns toward the source of the voice. Valerie is kneeling beside Max's motionless form. “He cared. I know he did.” She reaches up to swipe tears from her eyes before they can fall.

 

“I know,” John replies quietly, kneeling down beside her.

 

“I know you don't like them but Max was special, he _was_ ,” she continues, voice steady even as more tears threaten to fall.

 

“Valerie, I don't wanna get your hopes up for no reason," John begins slowly, "but—Rudy's working on a new memory backup system. It went live a few days ago.” Valerie fixes a hawklike gaze on him and he continues. “There's a chance--a  _chance_ Max made it.”

 

Hope flares bright in Valerie's eyes and she dashes away a fresh wave of tears. “Okay,” she says, and reaches out to gently lift Max's shoulders and head, to pull him gently to rest in her lap. “Thank you for telling me,” she murmurs, gently tugging Max's helmet from his head so she can run her fingers delicately through his hair, gently combing out cowlicks from where it'd been stuck under his helmet.

 

John stands, backs away. He knows the best thing to do is to give her this moment with Max, to say goodbye just in case she can't another time. Just in case this really _is_ goodbye.

 

-

 

Max is the first unit on Rudy's table. Valerie, John, and Dorian are also present and it seems to be freaking Rudy out a bit. “I'm not used to an audience,” he says, wringing his hands for a moment as the scan on Max's body completes. “I'm just a bit—oh dear,” he says, looking at the scan.

 

“What is it?” Valerie asks instantly.

 

“It looks like the, ah, the nanites got up his spinal filaments and straight up into his positronic brain. It's been turned to, to metal shavings, but—one second,” he says, holding up a finger and scurrying off.

 

“I'm accessing the new database now, Detective Stahl,” Dorian says. “There are intact MX files there. I can't tell which one is Max's, I don't know his serial number—but the memory bank seems to be holding strong." He holds up a hand. "However, there's still a chance that the file will be corrupted upon moving it again. It might not work."

 

Valerie nods and Rudy scrambles back into the room, gloved hands holding what looks like a jumble of blue-purple circuitboard and wire. “Spare brain,” Rudy says cheerily, holding the brain in one hand while he attempts to pry off the top of Max's skull with the other. He fails. “Dorian, uh, can you...?”

 

Gently and carefully Dorian takes the jumble of electronics in hand. “This brain is empty,” Dorian says, lights flashing blue. “What happened?”

 

“It's from a group of bots that was hit with an e-pulse a while back. Their brains were all wiped and their bodies, well. Still trying to figure out exactly how to fix it.”

 

“You might wanna look away,” John says to Valerie as Rudy finally gets the MX's head open. “This isn't gonna be nice to look at.”

 

“I'm not squeamish, John. I'm fine.”

 

Rudy sets the skull-cap aside and with a few quick movements has the old brain unhooked. It doesn't exactly look like metal shavings as Rudy had so delicately put it, but it's visibly corroded, parts of it having completely caved in. Rudy grabs a can of compressed air and blows out the empty inside of Max's cranium, tiny bits of metal flying out and landing on the ground. “Ugh,” Valerie says, leaning on the table a bit. “Okay, this _is_ a little freaky.”

 

“It'll be done in a jiffy,” Rudy assures her, slotting in the new brain and snapping the skullcap back on. He scuttles over to his computer and begins tapping out commands onto the keyboard. “Okay, so if this is going to work, it's going to work. I'm moving over Max's memory files to this new brain and supposing everything works out, which it might not, he'll be good as new.”

 

Valerie is gently running her fingers through Max's hair, forever ruffled from being stuck under his helmet. John shifts from foot to foot, and Dorian looks calm and collected as ever. “There we are,” Rudy chirps, “now, Detective Stahl, if you'll do the honors...”

 

Valerie nods, steels herself, and reaches out to gently press the button behind her MX's ear.

 

Nothing happens.

 

She closes her eyes, bowing her head. John lays a hand on her shoulder, Dorian steps closer and Rudy winces, says “I'm sorry, Valerie, I...”

 

And then Max's eyes go blue and he gasps into life, sitting up and looking around and he doesn't have a chance to say anything before Valerie's arms are flung around his neck. His lights flash red and his eyes close, his own arms wrapping tightly around her in return. “Are you well, Detective Valerie?” he asks, muffled against her shoulder, and she nods, laughing almost hysterically.

 

John's grinning so hard his face hurts and Dorian's smiling too and Rudy's congratulating himself on his good programming, and John's starting to think that maybe things are going to be okay.

 

-

 

The thing is, it won't stay okay forever. There is a rescue system in place for the MXes, yes, but the androids are still being used and forced into lives that they did not choose. The thing is that they aren't _actively_ _suffering_. None of them dislike their lots in life. Not _yet._

 

“When did they wake up?” John asks Dorian one night; neither of them can sleep. “When did they start—when did they start feeling?”

 

“About eight months ago was when it began,” Dorian replies quietly. “It's been climbing exponentially ever since.”

 

John takes a deep breath. “And how long do you give them until they grow enough to be unhappy with their whole situation?”

 

There's a long, terrible silence. “I don't know,” Dorian says finally. “I don't know. It could be tomorrow. It could be next year. It could be never.”

 

“What're we going to do when that happens?”

 

“We'll try to help,” Dorian replies. “We'll figure something out. That's what we'll do.”

 

-

 

Another late night. John had at least gotten a nap earlier in the day, though, so this isn't _too_ bad. Dorian's in the MX charging stations catching a few electrons, and John's just finishing up some work before he and Dorian can go home.

 

“Was it your idea?”

 

The voice is quiet and measured and John instantly knows it's an MX; looking up he can see it's Valerie's, unit seven-hundred. _Max_. “What?” he asks. “Was what my idea?”

 

“The backup system. Was it your idea?”

 

John blinks, taken aback. “Yeah, well. No. Kinda. It was a team effort. Rudy's the one really responsible.”

 

A pause. Max continues after a long moment. “Your DRN accessed our memory files shortly before the backup system was implemented. Why is that?”

 

John sees no reason not to tell him the truth. He deserves to know. “Because I asked him to. I needed to know if you had... if you had emotions.”Max fixes him with a leveling sort of gaze and John feels torn down to his foundations. “I'm sorry,” John goes on to say, “I'm—I'm sorry for—for what I did. To both of them. If I could take it back, I would, I swear I would.”

 

Max's eyes soften but do not look away. “Your regret is noted, Detective." His lights flash softly, red and glowing. "By all of us," he adds, "and it is appreciated.” There's a small pause before he speaks again. “I came down here to extend my personal thanks, Detective. You--” A pause as Max attempts to find the correct words. “The storage system you insisted upon was what... allowed me to continue existing.”

 

“Saved your life.”

 

Max dips his head. “Saved my... saved my life,” he says, tentatively, as if having a life to lose is a foreign concept to voice. “My only thought as the nanites began to destroy my positronic brain was that I very deeply regretted that I would never again see Detective Valerie. An irrational thought, which I attribute to the damage I was undergoing at the time,” he explains. “Nevertheless I thank you for not allowing that fear to become reality.”

 

John's chest feels too small, in a good way.

 

“You're welcome,” he murmurs. “It's the least I could have done.”

 

The MX dips his head and turns, takes a few measured steps toward the elevator.

 

“Max?” John calls, and Max turns back around.

 

“Yes, Detective?”

 

“Valerie didn't know about the backup system,” he says slowly, “and when she thought you were gone, she... she told me you were good. She told me you cared.” John keeps eye contact with the android, shifting from foot to foot. “She cried for you. I just figured you might want to know that.”

 

Max registers no facial expression but the red lights at the side of his face dance brightly for a long few seconds. “Thank you for the information, Detective John,” he says on a nod before he turns and enters the elevator.

 

_Detective John._ John blinks. Max calls Valerie “Detective Valerie,” what—oh. It's a sign of familiarity. Of _friendship_.

 

Max regards him as a friend.

 

For the first time in a long time, John feels warm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bows*
> 
> This fic was a long time in the making and it's done. I can now delete it from my AlphaSmart and go on to writing something new. Maybe that silly Pokemon/AH crossover idea.
> 
> Thank you for reading, my dears ;u;

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this fic is already written, it's just a matter of formatting it properly and uploading it. Ergo, updates should be pretty quick. (oh god this has taken me a million years to get written, I'm so glad I'm finally uploading it ;______; )
> 
> You can find me at edgebug.tumblr.com if any of you are interested! ;U;
> 
> (fic title from the song "From Stardust to Sentience" by Stars)


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